


Ten Itchy Fingers

by Fiercelynormal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:37:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiercelynormal/pseuds/Fiercelynormal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Solo hunter Dean Winchester travels back to the Old West to find the Colt and kill the Phoenix. When he meets the tall and gorgeous Samuel Colt he gets much more than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Itchy Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU take on episode 6.18, so spoilers for that episode. Technically Samuel Colt is a real person but in this story he’s just a hot guy who looks a lot like Jared Padalecki and made a gun, so don’t sue me. Title from “Me and My Monkey” by Robbie Williams.

Dean rocked unsteadily on his feet, disoriented as always by Castiel’s “Beam me up, Scotty” routine. He only had twenty-four hours to find Samuel Colt, get the gun and kill the Phoenix, and he didn’t have time to waste puking his guts up like that one time that Cas was never allowed to mention. Swallowing his nausea, he looked around, and a gleeful smile crossed his face as he got his first good look at the real Old West.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he crowed, and set off for the town he could see in the distance.

* * *

A half hour of walking in painfully new cowboy boots later, Dean arrived sweating and swearing in the little town, his enthusiasm for the Old West gone about the time he stepped in his second cow pie. He stopped in at the saloon – which was not awesome- and asked the barkeep if he had seen someone matching the description the guy Samuel Colt described in his journal as the Phoenix. He hadn’t, so Dean asked him if he knew where to find Samuel Colt. The bartender, after inflicting his rotgut whisky on Dean’s innards, pointed him in the direction of Colt’s cabin and soon Dean was off to take care of the first part of his mission.

Striding confidently up onto Samuel Colt’s porch, Dean thumped on the door and waited expectantly. And waited. Although there was smoke coming out of the chimney, nobody seemed to be in a hurry to answer the door. Shrugging to himself, Dean turned the iron knob and stepped –

\- directly into the gun levelled at his chest. Dean froze, and looked up at the person who had caught him by surprise. His breath caught in his throat as he stared up at the most gorgeous guy he’d ever seen. Tall as all hell, and much younger than Dean had expected, with floppy brown hair and a slightly pointed nose that immediately made Dean wonder what it would feel like buried in his – whoa. Shaking himself from his stupor, he snarked, “Samuel Colt, I presume?”

The man’s lips tilted up at one corner and he looked Dean slowly up and down. “Depends who’s askin’, stranger,” he replied, his voice a low drawl that sent a curl of heat through Dean’s belly.

“I’m Dean Winch-“ he sputtered as water hit him in the face. It wasn’t even close to the first time this had happened to him so he calmly wiped the holy water off his face and continued “Dean Winchester, and I’m a Hunter, not a demon, you giant dick.”

Colt looked momentarily surprised before he grinned and stepped back and allowed Dean into the cabin. He walked over to the rough-hewn table in the corner of the cabin and poured two glasses of whiskey from the half-full bottle sitting on the table. Handing one to Dean he motioned him towards one of the two chairs and dropped bonelessly onto his own, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“Why you lookin’ for me?” he asked, taking a swallow of his whiskey. Dean took a sip of his own and, while it was better than the rotgut served at the saloon it was still a struggle for him to keep from pulling a face.

“Because tomorrow you shoot a Phoenix, and I need to be there.”

Samuel put his whiskey glass down with a thump. “There’s no way you could know that,” he growled, and the rough tone sent a shiver of arousal down Dean’s spine. He shook it off.

“Sure there is,” he replied, and dropped Colt’s journal on the table.

Samuel looked astonished. “How can this be?” he asked, pulling his own journal towards him from where it rested on the far corner of the table, and setting it beside the one Dean had produced. They were identical.

“This is going to sound a bit strange,” Dean started cautiously, “but I’m from the future, from the year 2011.”

“Prove it,” Samuel challenged, his hazel eyes intent on Dean.

Dean pulled out his Blackberry and pressed a key, lighting up the display screen. Samuel glanced down at it. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly but then he tossed back down to the table, showing no further interest in the technology.

“OK,” he shrugged, and took another slug of whiskey.

“That’s it, OK?” Dean asked incredulously. Whenever this happened in movies, the people being informed that the person in front of them was, in fact, from the future would scream, or faint, or both. This lack of reaction from Colt was kind of... anticlimactic, really. Dean tried not to pout.

“I’ve been a Hunter for most of my life,” Samuel grinned, and Dean tried not to be too distracted by the dimples that appeared in his cheeks. “I’ve seen stuff that would make most people’s heads explode. A guy with a little magic thingamajig isn’t going to disturb me too much.” And yeah, Dean could relate. The average person didn’t see half the weird shit Dean did, but that didn’t make it any less real.

Dean quickly explained why he was there. To Samuel’s credit, he didn’t even blink before handing over the Colt to Dean. Dean was a little surprised; he didn’t know why but he’d expected he’d need to do more persuading than that to get Samuel to give up the gun. Now that he’d secured the gun, the first part of his mission was accomplished, and he knew from Samuel’s journal that he wouldn’t find the Phoenix till high noon the next day, so Dean now found himself at loose ends.

Now that he didn’t have to focus on the mission, he allowed his eyes to roam freely over Samuel as the two men traded hunting stories. Eventually Samuel got up and filled a couple bowls with the stew that had been bubbling over the fire in the hearth, and they ate as they talked, washing it down with more whiskey. Although he tried to be subtle as his gaze lingered on Samuel’s broad shoulders or his long, narrow fingers, he occasionally looked up to find Samuel looking back at him with a smirk.

He didn’t seem to be disturbed by Dean’s attentions though, in fact he did a fair bit of staring of his own, his gaze lingering on Dean’s full lips or on his freckled cheeks. Gradually the tension in the room started to build and Dean knew it wasn’t just him feeling it; Samuel was feeling it too.

Despite the heightened tension the men continued to talk, and Dean was surprised by how much he liked talking with Samuel. Obviously they were worlds apart, but they were both Hunters and they both knew what it was like to lose the people closest to them to monsters. Samuel also had a sardonic wit that complemented Dean’s, and they traded jibes while ignoring the building heat in the room.

Dean learned that Samuel’s parents had both been killed by a demon when he was no more than fifteen years old, leaving him with no family to speak of and only the small cabin to call his own. He’d dedicated his life to hunting and had learned to make weapons in order to create better tools for taking down the evil that had killed his family. Using an odd assortment spells that he’d picked up from some friendly (and some not-so-friendly) witches he’d met on his travels, he’d somehow happened upon just the right combination of spells to create a weapon that could kill just about anything.

As much as he enjoyed talking with Samuel, eventually Dean knew he’d better get back to town if he was hoping to find a room at the saloon, so he reluctantly stood, stuffing the Colt into the deep pocket of his leather duster.

“Well, Samuel, it’s been a pleasure,” he started, and offered his hand to Samuel to shake.

Samuel caught him by the wrist and tugged him towards him until Dean stumbled onto his lap, straddling him where he sprawled in the chair. Dean went down far too easily, whether due to too much whiskey or not enough willpower he wasn’t sure.

“Why don’t you stay here for the night,” Sam murmured, staring into Dean’s eyes. His thumb stroked the pulse beating wildly in Dean’s wrist. Dean didn’t even pretend to protest, knowing that he only had one night to do this; tomorrow he’d kill the Phoenix and Cas would beam him back to the future, and he’d never see Samuel again. The thought brought an unexpected pang of regret to Dean’s chest. To dispel it, he leaned forward and took Samuel’s mouth in a kiss.

It started gentle, a lazy exploration of each others’ mouths. Dean gripped Samuel’s shoulders, relishing the firmness of the muscles under his fingers. Samuel had his hands on Dean’s hips, pulling him close but not attempting to touch him anywhere else for the moment. They kissed for what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes, letting it gradually deepen until their tongues were tangled and they were panting into each other’s mouths.

Eventually Samuel lifted his hands from Dean’s waist and slid them up under his shirt, runching up the fabric until it stopped under Dean’s arms. Reluctantly breaking the kiss he pulled the shirt over Dean’s head and tossed it carelessly on the floor. Taking advantage of the pause, Dean did the same to Samuel and then went back in to continue the open-mouthed kiss, sucking on Samuel’s tongue while he pressed their naked chests together and slid his hands between them to grip the firm lump of Samuel’s hard-on.

Samuel let him stroke for a bit before again breaking the kiss and gently pushing Dean off his lap. Gripping Dean’s hand he pulled him over to the bed in the corner and hurriedly stripped them both of clothing, somehow managing not to get their jeans tangled in their boots. When they were both naked he pushed Dean backwards onto the bed and swiftly followed, mouthing at Dean’s nipples before sliding down his chest. He poked his tongue briefly into Dean’s navel, eliciting a shiver, before moving down to Dean’s groin. He teasingly avoided Dean’s cock and went straight for his balls, licking a stripe up between them and causing Dean to arch off the bed with a shout.

Dean gripped Samuel’s long hair and pressed his face harder into his balls. Samuel groaned, and the vibrations against his sac made Dean reach down and grip his cock hard at the base to keep from coming before they got to the good stuff. Samuel closed his hand over Deans to hold him steady and finally moved up to tongue at Dean’s cock, licking delicately at the head and swiping a drop of pre-come. Dean arched up again, and finally gasped, “Fuck me, Samuel.”

Samuel smirked and moved back downwards, dragging his tongue down to Dean’s tightly furled hole. He ran his tongue teasingly over the wrinkled flesh, getting it messy with spit until it relaxed enough for him to thrust the tip of his tongue inside Dean. Dean clenched his eyes shut, lost in the sensation of Samuel’s dirty kiss. Samuel brought a finger up and gently thrust it inside Dean, licking around it as Dean’s body clenched, thrusting it in and out until Dean loosened up enough for him to insert another alongside the first. Scissoring his fingers apart, Samuel continued thrusting his tongue between them, getting Dean as wet as possible. The only sounds in the room were Dean’s harshly panting breath and the wet squelch of Samuel’s fingers moving in and out of Dean’s body.

Just when he thought the pleasure couldn’t get any more intense, Samuel added a third finger to the mix. Dean couldn’t take it for long; he wanted to come on Samuel’s cock. “Get up here,” he gritted out, yanking at Samuel’s hair. “I need you in me.”

“And I need to be in you,” Samuel agreed. Crawling over Dean’s body on all fours he gripped his own cock in his hand and lined up, pressing it against Dean’s hole. Dean tried to stay relaxed; the brief glimpse he’d gotten of Samuel’s cock before being so thoroughly distracted had been enough for him to know that if he tensed up it was going to hurt and spit wasn’t much in the way of lube, no matter how wet Samuel had been sure to make him.

Samuel pushed in slowly, inch by inch. Dean breathed deeply, focusing on not clenching up until Samuel was inside him balls deep.  
“Ok?” Samuel asked, holding still to let Dean adjust to the pressure inside him.

“Gimme a minute,” Dean grunted. Samuel held his hips completely still and bent down to kiss Dean, licking teasingly at his lips. They kissed for a long minute until the distraction and heat allowed Dean to relax around Samuel’s cock. When Samuel felt the change he began slowly moving in shallow thrusts in and out of Dean’s body. The intensity of the thrusts slowly built and Dean planted his feet on the bed and began thrusting his hips up to match Samuel’s pace. This caused the head of Samuel’s cock to scrape against Dean’s prostate and Dean groaned in pleasure.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Samuel panted, and kept the angle, pegging Dean’s sweet spot on every thrust. Deciding a reply would take too much effort, Dean just dug his fingers into Samuel’s muscular ass and held on for the ride. After long minutes of this he finally couldn’t hold off anymore and reached between them to grip his cock, already slick with pre-come, and stroked himself to the rhythm of Samuel’s thrusts.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby” Samuel crooned, “Finish yourself off for me, let me watch.” Dean’s hand sped up, stripping his cock furiously as Samuel continued to slam against his prostate. The pleasure burst over Dean in a long wave of heat and he shouted out as he came, silky white drops landing on his chest and Samuel’s lower stomach. The feel of Dean coming around his cock tipped Samuel over the edge with him and he slammed all the way in and ground his pelvis against Dean’s as Dean’s tight channel milked him of his own come. He dropped his head down and resumed kissing Dean as they both came down, the wet smack of lips and tongues filling the room as their heart rates slowed and their sweat cooled.

Finally he eased slowly out of Dean’s body and rolled to the side, pulling Dean half over his body and dragging a corner of the quilt over them both as they both drifted to sleep.

* * *

Dean woke slowly the next morning, burrowing his face sleepily into the muscled shoulder under his head. Eventually he remembered where he was and what he was there for, and he reluctantly pulled away from Samuel. He knew he had to get back to town, kill the Phoenix and grab the ashes; as much as he longed to stay wrapped up in Samuel forever he knew he had to get back to his own time and defeat the Mother of All, or the world would suffer for it. God, that sounded melodramatic, even to him. But though he wanted to be selfish for once, Dean knew he couldn’t. It hardly seemed fair. Dean had sacrificed so much being a Hunter; he’d even gone to hell. He finally found someone he thought maybe he could be happy with, and there was no hope for it.

Not wanting to wake Samuel and see the same regret in his eyes that he was sure was in his own, Dean dressed quietly and stood for a moment staring at Samuel, trying to store up enough memories to keep him going when he was back home, alone again. When he knew he couldn’t stay any longer or he’d never leave, he firmed his jaw and slipped out the door to head back to town.

At high noon he stood in the street, waiting for the Phoenix to show like Samuel’s journal said he would. The minutes passed and Dean began to get uneasy. Samuel’s journal said that he shot the Phoenix in front of the saloon at high noon. Now, granted, nobody around here was wearing a Rolex but he’d been standing here long enough to make up for any margin of error. Maybe something he did caused the past to change, like in that craptastic Kutcher movie?

Dean waited long enough to be certain that the Phoenix wasn’t going to be there before turning away and starting back towards the saloon. As he turned towards the saloon a shot rang out and he felt a burning sensation on his upper arm as the bullet grazed him. He looked up and saw a man crouching on the roof of the saloon, matching the description of the Phoenix that Samuel had written in his journal. He was holding a gun and when he saw Dean looking he tipped his hat mockingly. The Phoenix raised his gun again and took aim.

Sonofabitch. Dean thought, defeated. The Phoenix must have found out Dean was asking after him in the saloon and decided to take Dean out before Dean took him out. So now not only had Dean failed to kill the Phoenix and grab the ashes, but he was never going to see Samuel again. He was going to die lying in the street in a time that wasn’t even his own. He closed his eyes and waited.

Dean heard the sound of the next shot and waited for the pain of the bullet. When nothing immediately felt different he opened one eye and found himself in Bobby’s den with Bobby and Castiel standing in front of him. After Dean’s initial “Hey, I’m not dead!” euphoria passed, he felt a crushing sense of failure. He had missed his opportunity to get the Phoenix ashes, and now they had no hope of killing the Mother. And as world-ending as that was, he felt himself even more upset because he had lost Samuel for good.

Deans eyes closed and his head dropped dejectedly. Taking a deep breath he walked over to Bobby’s desk and helped himself to a glass of whiskey. Knocking back a gulp he absently noted the taste was vastly better than the swill served in the saloon. At least something’s looking up, he thought darkly.

Dropping into Bobby’s desk chair he glared over at Castiel, who had been standing silently. At least Bobby had the sense to leave him alone.

“I don’t need you here to watch me drink, Cas.” Dean snarled. “Why don’t you go make yourself useful somewhere else?” Abruptly he slammed his glass down on the desk and strode out of Bobby’s office and out the front door, deciding that drinking alone in his hotel room was much better than seeing the defeat and disappointment in Bobby’s and Castiel’s eyes. If he wanted to see that, he could just look in the mirror.

The Mother of All was going to win. Her monstrous children would infest the earth because Dean had failed to get the one thing that would stop her. Dean took a bit of comfort in knowing that Samuel had lived and died long before Dean’s failure doomed everyone. He couldn’t have borne knowing that he was responsible for anything hurting Samuel.

Dean drove directly to his motel, and walked in the door. As he turned to shut the door behind him the last of his energy drained from him and he rested his forehead against the closed door. Seconds later a knock on the door startled him he jerked it open, expecting to see Bobby –not Cas since the angel never considered such social graces.

Instead of Bobby, he found Samuel Colt standing outside his door beside Castiel, the sickly yellow light of the cheap bulb outside the door doing nothing to dim the radiance of his dimpled smile. Dean stumbled back and sat down heavily on the bed, leaving Samuel standing in the open doorway.

“What—how---?” Dean stuttered incoherently.

“You told me to make myself useful,” Castiel stated matter-of-factly, as if that was explanation enough.

Dean quirked his eyebrow at Samuel, trying not to let his utter elation at seeing the other man show.

“Seems your angel friend thought I might be able to help,” Samuel drawled.

“I thought you didn’t have enough juice to go back, Cas?” Dean asked, but didn’t take his eyes off of Samuel, as if afraid he’d disappear if Dean looked away.

“I asked Balthazar to retrieve Samuel,” Cas said. “I...called in a favor.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s great to see you,” Dean said to Samuel. Great didn’t really cover it. “But I failed. I didn’t kill the Phoenix.”

“No, Dean, you didn’t.” Samuel smiled gently, “I did.” He reached into the pocket of his simple canvas jacket and pulled out a dusty bottle, which he shook teasingly at Dean.

When Dean simply continued to gape, Samuel added “I followed you when you left this morning. I thought I could cover your back or something. When he aimed at you, I took the shot, but then you disappeared.” A shadow crossed Samuel’s face.

“But I had the gun!” said Dean. “I thought only that gun could kill the Phoenix.”

Samuel smirked. “Who says I only made one? I was doing the spell anyway, easy enough to do it on two guns instead of one.”

“So, what now?” Dean asked.

“Well, I right now I reckon we have a monster to kill.” Samuel grinned. “And after that, I’m thinkin’ we both need a hunting partner.”  
“You’re staying?” Dean asked gruffly, trying not to let the hope shine through in his voice.

“Yeah, Dean, I’m staying.” Samuel smiled gently. “Not gonna let a little something like a hundred or so years come between us.”

Dean finally let the smile he’d been holding back take over his face and he reached out and pulled Samuel into his arms. They had the means to defeat the Mother of All, they had two guns, and they had each other. It was a damn good start.


End file.
